I Woke To A Terrible Thought

Actually, it was prompted by one of those commercials for Christian Children's Fund, showing the kid in icky water, one girl with a tear running down her face and the guy that looks like he may have eaten a few of those kids at some point admonishing Rico Americanos to pony up for Jesus and Save The Children. I wonder what the "administrative" costs of that Pogrom are. The guy with the Burl Ives beard doesn't look like he's missing any meals.

I hate those ads. Really. They used to have Sally Struthers in them. Until it became apparent that she had, possibly, subsidized her personal quest to become Mrs. Jabba The Hut (with lipstick and tits) with funds siphoned off from the campaign.

Seriously. If you're a man (who likes women that look like women) reading this and the thought of waking up next to Sally makes your legs cross involuntarily, you know what I mean.

Which leads to another disturbing thought/question: Were/are Rob Reiner and Sally secretly closely related? Rob the Anti-Cigarette Man (who made off with a significant amount of State and Federal dollars that never saw the likes of a classroom or billboard) and Sally are "two peas in a pod." A grotesquely HUGE pod, to be sure. Heck, they may or may not have been incestuous Lovers on All In The Family. They also, at some point, may simply conjoin to form one Gigantic, androgynous, Super Jabba. A Typhoon of cellulite. Ew.

Anyway, I digress. Waking up with shit like this in your head is what "sleeping with the TV on" is all about.

God bless you, Carl Reiner. But, you created monsters... Good ones like Marty Feldman and Peter Boyle, withstanding. They can stay. Meathead and What's-Her-Name, rot in Hell.

So, I decided to "get up" for awhile, make a pot of Constant Comment tea and have some toast, jam and Little South American Children's Feet.

Now, I'm watching "WW2 In Color," which is much more civilized. I have a semi-morbid fascination with that war. Plus, I just like watching the Krauts get their asses handed to them. Yes, my Family is Bavarian. Yes, The Nazis stole our Family Farm, below Berchtesgaden. Yes, we're Ashkenazim. Yes, I'm "bitter."

My Uncle, Hal, was a P-47d pilot and Base Commander in S.E. England toward the war's end. Flew "top cover" for his guys on D-Day. He blew up allot of shit, got shot down in France, was bayoneted through both lungs, had his teeth kicked in and left for dead (to be rescued by a French farmer) by the Heiny's when he came across a machine gun nest but, never shot down another pilot. Uncle Cookie Brush, via one of Werner Von Braun's V-2 rockets, gave him a send-off to Belgium. Landed right on the airstrip he was due to take off from, a couple 1,000' away. Hal's the Family Patriarch War Hero. Bird Colonel, USAAF/USAF, (ret.) Good man. He's 95 years old and I dread the news of his coming passing. He's my Mom's "Big Brother." I have none of his genetics. I'm a dyed in the wool Peacenik. Well, except that I think that building a Disneyland in The Middle East is a good idea (after it cools off).

War "Blows Dead Bears." I missed the Vietnam Draft by three weeks. I was #012 and 1-A. I would have ignored the letter and joined the Coast Guard. As things were, I was having allot more fun doing lighting design and carousing with Rock Stars. Shooting little guys, in black P.J.'s, in a jungle just wasn't going to work out for me. Besides, I suck at "taking orders." From ANYONE.

So. "Good Morning." Have a pleasant "Pi Day." 3.1415. 3/14/15. Embrace Fibonacci.

By the by: It's also Albert Einstein's Birthday! I'm already drunk on Relativity so a party would be a waste of good booze.

-Doc